


Jump, Fly

by Iron



Series: Cliffjumper Week 2020 [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cliffjumper is secretly half seeker, Multi, Robot Procreation, Transformers Sparklings, middle of the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron/pseuds/Iron
Summary: Cliffjumper's the only minibot front liner on either side of the war. The reason for this lies in his parentage.His existence proves him a traitor to his own cause.--"Traitor"
Relationships: Cliffjumper&Starscream
Series: Cliffjumper Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104347
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Cliffjumper Week (2020)





	Jump, Fly

Cliffjumper’s a frontliner. 

That by itself is odd. Of the half dozen minibus currently stationed on Earth, none of them were otherwise marked as frontliners. Even Bumblebee is only a scout, marked for limited durability and below average combat potential. 

Cliffjumper had never doubted his own capabilities as a frontliner, no matter his size or his frame type. He’s know for a fragging long time just how durable he was; he remembers when his creators would fly him high, high above the clouds, and let him fall from their hands to the Earth. 

He remembers what happened when they failed to catch him. 

He survived that, he can survive a few idiot Decepticons taking potshots at him because they don’t expect him to have the firepower to fight back. He always loves to see their faces when they realized that the canon he’s got on the ridge isn’t just for show - it’s for blowing straight through their chests. 

The amusement lasts a little longer than he’d thought it would, but the end result when he’s got a steady posting’s always the same: he makes it most of the way through a few battles, using his size to his advantage, only for the bastards to start taking potshots at him when they realize that he’s not going anywhere, and that he’s taking out more of their guys than he should rightly be able to. He’s small, he’s bright red, and he can take a punting. He survives. 

Even on Earth, when the roster’s shrunk and Prime’s directive is to preserve as much of their species as possible, he survives. Right there on the front lines with Prowl’s terror twins, right there in the thick of it, mud on his tires and a fire in his spark fit for bursting. 

Right there until he takes a blaster right to his hood, and retreat’s so fast that no one spares the time to pick him up. Most of the time the warriors that are still obviously both alive and not officers are left on the field for field medics or scrap gatherers to find. Dead mechs might get taken back to be used for parts. Officers are ransomed back, usually with major damaged repaired. 

Cliffjumper wakes up in just as much disrepair as he passed out with, and he does it in a place that’s too fragging grey and purple to be the Ark. 

It’s … weird. 

He hopes to frag it’s a weird Earth thing. 

It takes about five minutes of listening to someone vent to realize that, well, he could fragging hope it was a weird Earth thing. The alternative is it being a weird Vos thing, and he… can’t deal with it being a Vos thing. 

He tilts his chin up until his helm _thunks_ against the honey gold glass of a cockpit he remembers too well. Red optics meet blue. “Hey, Carri. Fraggin’ kidnapping’s how you’re getting my attention now?” 

“Well. I can hardly visit that hovel you call a ship.” Starscream’s mouth curls into a sharp, thin smirk that Cliff could never hope to imitate. “And you’ve been ignoring my missives.” 

“We’re on the opposite sides of a war.” 

“And once you’ve which side is the right side -“ 

“I’m on the right side -!” 

“Once you’ve done that, and gotten over this ridiculous rebellion of yours, we can start rebuilding our relationship.” 

Something ugly curdles in Cliffjumper’s stomach. “Our relationship begins and ends with you tossing me off the Tower for the offense of not having wings.” 

“You’re terribly dramatic. We caught you, did we not?” Fingers tweak the tip of his horn. With a lover it would be erotic but his carrier’s claws pinch the delicate metal in the worst way, and it only makes him feel like he’s three vorns old and getting caught stealing all the sweets from the fridge again. “You are the son of the Elite Trine of Vos, and I won’t have you mucking around with those ground pounders any longer. I’m tired of not aiming in your direction on the battlefield.” Thin, short claws drag over his plating, picking out grit from his seams like he’s a toddler getting in to muck again. 

“I’ve lived in Iacon for vorns -“ 

“But you will always be Vosnian.” 

Cliffjumper falls silent, long used to his carrier’s stubbornness. His mercurial moods were just as well matched, and Cliffjumper knows it won’t be long until something - the labs, Megatron, the war - pulls him away long enough to let the mini escape. 

It turns out not to be any of those reasons. It’s rather a bit more mundane; his shift starts. He moves out from underneath Cliffjumper, a hand lingering on his plating for as long a possible. “Stay here. Move, and I’ll shoot that blue mech you’re so fond of.” 

“I’m not -“ 

But Starscream is gone. 

And Cliffjumper is left, trying to hide the fact that his very existence proves him a traitor to the Autobot cause from himself.


End file.
